


helper

by YouAreMyDesign



Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types
Genre: Blow Jobs, Bottom Will Graham, Creampie, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Emotional Manipulation, Extremely Underage, First Time, First Time Blow Jobs, Grooming, M/M, Manipulation, Manipulative Hannibal Lecter, Mildly Dubious Consent, Mischa Lecter Lives, Multiple Orgasms, Prostate Massage, Sibling Incest, Siblings, Top Hannibal Lecter, Underage Sex, Virginity Kink, Young Hannibal Lecter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-14
Updated: 2020-02-16
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:15:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22706056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YouAreMyDesign/pseuds/YouAreMyDesign
Summary: Hannibal has often found it strange, how dissimilar they all look, given that they share the same two parents.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 50
Kudos: 651





	1. Chapter 1

Hannibal has often found it strange, how dissimilar they all look, given that they share the same two parents. Hannibal is the oldest, Will his younger brother by five years, Mischa the baby by another two. She and Will inherited the same eyes – their mother's eyes, a brilliant blue to rival Hannibal's brownish red that he shares with his father. They were all born tow-headed, silver-haired, but Mischa's and Hannibal's grew to a flat-iron black, Will's a wild mess of earth-brown curls. Hannibal's hair has grown lighter in the last few years since puberty, and he's sure Mischa's will follow the same direction as she grows.

Mischa shares Hannibal's and their mother's nose. Will, their mother's lips. Their father's wiry frame that is still padded with puppy fat but promises that he will turn into a lovely young man, with a natural skinniness that suggests vulnerability and a strength that brings a swift end to foolish assumptions about his weakness.

Will is a good boy. He has the classic middle child and younger brother complex. He wants to be good, he does exactly what he's told when he's told to do it. He never butts heads with their father like Hannibal does, never assumes to take the lead, never acts out because he can't get away with it, like Mischa can. He plays with her when she demands his attention, lets her braid his hair and has tea parties with her and her dolls. He chases bullfrogs and rough-houses with the hunting dogs their father keeps.

He and Hannibal share a room. They have since Mischa was born, since it makes more sense for boys to share a room than one with a girl, and Mischa is nearing the age she will become a woman, and should have privacy.

Their room is kept militantly clean, both because Hannibal's sensitive nose can't stand the smell of sweat or musty clothes, and because he told Will he wasn't allowed to make messes and Will obeys him in that regard as he does in everything else. He sweeps and dusts and washes the floor, brings their sheets to the laundry for the servants to clean, tidies up Hannibal's books at the end of the day and shelves them with diligent care. He folds his clothes in a neat mimic of Hannibal, every crease of trouser and fall of jacket and shirt perfectly placed so that he can be good enough for his big brother.

Hannibal is not sure which he adores most; Will's quiet, puppy-like looks when he finishes a task and searches longingly for Hannibal's approval, or when he bites his lower lip and whispers, so soft and high; "Is that good, Hanni?"

Will is five years Hannibal's junior. He turned twelve last week, and is all gangling limbs like windswept willow fronds. Mischa's birthday is tomorrow; she'll be turning ten. Hannibal has often noted to himself the closeness of their birthdays, how it's almost a perfect nine months from their parents' wedding date. Clearly anniversary celebrations. A perfect present for Hannibal.

He loves his siblings so much it feels like a pained hunger. That feeling rose in him whenever he helped with Mischa's baths, lingers whenever she smiles at him, all teeth and so wide it splits her face in half. When Will looks at him, shyly, fingers curling awkwardly by his sides. He would die for either of them, kill for either of them; he thinks of them and feels such a savage love, he knows he loves them more than their parents do. Their mother is kind and gentle and doting, their father stern but warm, but they will _never_ love Will and Mischa like he does.

That same frantic love beats against his chest when he crosses the threshold to Mischa's room, a garment box in his arms, and sees Will brushing her hair with the silver-handled brush their mother gave to Mischa for Christmas last year. Her fine hair is shining in the light, still that jet-black Hannibal had when he was her age.

Her eyes meet his in the mirror, and she gives a happy chirp, clapping her hands together. "Hanni!" she cries, and Will stops his ministrations, turning to give Hannibal one of his shy, sweet smiles. Mischa's eyes fall to the box, and widen with delight. "What is that?"

"Our uncle sent you a present," he says, and sets the box on her bed. Mischa gets up, leaving Will's arms, and scampers over to the bed, throwing herself up on it so she can kneel by the box and open it with only the voracious lack of care a child can have.

Will gravitates closer, so he can look too, and Hannibal gives him a warm smile, wrapping his arm around Will's shoulders. Will is so slight against him, shorter than he is, overdue for a growth spurt. The top of his head barely reaches Hannibal's shoulder.

Mischa squeals with delight when she unveils what their uncle sent her. "Oh, it's beautiful!" she says, lifting the top of the dress. It's rather garish, in Hannibal's opinion, a veritable mess of chiffon and netting in a near-clashing combination of baby pink and burnished gold. But he knows she likes those colors; that's why he chose it. It's form-fitting at the top, to hug her shoulders and chest, and the frills begin at her stomach, fanning out in a wide skirt.

Mischa stands on her bed, holding it up to show that the dress is long enough to reach just past her knees. "Isn't it pretty?" she asks. Hannibal smiles, and Will gives a small nod of assent. "Will you help me put it on? I want to make sure it fits; I'll wear it tomorrow if it does!"

Hannibal hums. "I'll fetch Missus Grier," he says. She is Mischa's Governess, and far more suitable a person to help her into and out of her clothes.

Mischa pouts. "Who knows where she is. I want to try it now!" She climbs off the bed and quickly divests herself of her current attire. Hannibal feels the flush of Will's cheek as he turns and buries his face in Hannibal's armpit, for the sake of her modesty. Mischa is all pale skin stretched over bone, no maturity to her shape, still caught in the preadolescent neutrality of youth.

Hannibal huffs, and releases Will. He is no stranger to Mischa's nakedness; he used to help bath her, and Will, after all. He gathers the dress, holding the skirts wide so she can lift her arms and he can place it over her, helping her pull it down as she finds the arm and head holes and he can tug it into place. He purses his lips when it straightens, tugging on the over-loose collar and the slightly-too-wide set around her waist.

"A little large," he comments, "but you'll grow into it."

Mischa grins, and gives them both a little twirl. "It's so pretty," she says, looking at herself in her mirror. "I'm going to go show mother and father immediately. Thank you, Hanni!" She throws herself into his arms for a brief hug, then skips out of her room, leaving them alone.

Will's cheeks are still red, his gaze lowered to his feet. Hannibal eyes him curiously, and at his soft, inquiring hum, Will's eyes flash up to his for a brief moment, and his eyes darken further.

"Did uncle Roberto really give her that?" he asks. He has the air of a boy who already knows the answer.

Hannibal's head tilts. "Who else would have?"

Will bites his lower lip, runs a hand through his wild hair. His skinny shoulders lift and fall in a shrug. "I don't know," he murmurs. He has not quite mastered the art of lying, yet. Not to Hannibal, at least.

Hannibal smiles, and takes his hand, pulling Will out of Mischa's room. "Are you jealous?" he teases. Will received no such gift from their 'uncle' for his birthday – sometimes it seems that their uncle forgets he exists. Will's birthday is shadowed by Mischa's, as the only girl and the youngest, and Hannibal's is a few months past.

"I don't want a dress," Will says, somewhat petulantly. Hannibal leads Will to their room and closes the door behind them, remaining near it as Will paces to the center, still petting through his hair, over his neck. Hannibal resists the urge to scold him; he'll draw the wrong kind of attention when he's older, doing things like that. People might get it into their heads to put their teeth where his fingers turn his skin pink.

"But you like attention," Hannibal says. Will's jaw clenches, and he says nothing. "It's natural, Will; we are creatures that thrive on connection and attention. It's okay to be jealous."

Will swallows, voice heavy with shame; "You don't get jealous."

Hannibal smiles. "I used to," he admits. Will pauses in his pacing, his eyes meeting Hannibal's, wide and bright. "When you were born, and then when Mischa was born, I was frightfully jealous of the attention our parents gave you. But then I got to experience the unique love of being a big brother, and it faded."

"I love Mischa," Will says, like an argument, instinctively upset at Hannibal's implication. "I love her with everything I am, as much as I love you. I just…." He falls silent again.

He shivers, wrapping his arms around his skinny chest. Winter is still clinging determinedly to the outside air, bringing the occasional chill wind and biting frost come nightfall. Their room has a fireplace, but Hannibal has been neglecting its use, hoping to acclimate to the cold. Will has extra blankets on his bed to combat it, but Hannibal still hears him shivering at night sometimes.

He holds out a hand, and Will goes to him, falling into his arms as Hannibal embraces him and puts his nose to Will's hair, breathing in his scent. Will always smells of the outdoors, a little wildling hunting beetles and chasing faeries. He smiles when Will clings to him just as tightly, a light tremor running down his back beneath Hannibal's hands.

"You're not going to forget me, are you Hanni? Ever?" Will asks, blinking up at him with those wide, beautiful, innocent eyes. Hannibal's chest aches with how savagely his love for Will hits him.

He shakes his head, tucking a curl behind Will's ear. "Never," he promises. Will presses his lips together, still looking unsure, and Hannibal's smile widens. He cups Will's smooth jaw and leans down, his lips meeting Will's in a chaste, warm kiss. Will gasps, jerking back from him, blinking rapid-fire and cheeks turning a very dark red with shock.

"What…?"

"Shh," Hannibal coaxes, wrapping his fingers around the back of Will's warm neck, under his hair, so he can't pull away. He pulls Will into another kiss, and while Will is stiff at the shoulders, fingers kneading unsure at Hannibal's back, he doesn't pull away a second time.

Hannibal lets him go when Will needs air, Will panting and flushed, body trembling. "Are we -? Is this okay?" he asks, sounding so young and sweet. Hannibal has to force himself not to grip him tighter, to see what other noises he can wring out of his beautiful baby brother. "We're not married."

"But we love each other, don't we?" Hannibal murmurs. Will nods immediately, eyes wide at the mere suggestion that they don't. "When people love each other, they kiss. They do other things, too. It's okay if you're in love."

Will nods, brow creasing. "That makes sense."

"But we have to do it in private," Hannibal reminds him, gently petting over Will's red cheek. "You don't see mama and papa kissing each other all the time. It's meant to be kept secret. Otherwise people will try to get us to stop. They'll separate us."

"I don't want to stop," Will says, eyes wide. "We're not doing anything wrong…. Right?"

"Exactly," Hannibal purrs, smile sharp. "Not wrong. Just private. Something just between us, because we're in love."

Will nods frantically, biting his lower lip, which has turned pink and warm under Hannibal's kisses. "I like kissing you," he says quietly, already leaning in for another. Hannibal obliges him, pulling Will close and kissing his sweet, soft mouth. He cups Will's jaw, holds him still and licks at the seam of his lips, and Will gasps, parting them to let Hannibal inside.

That hunger he associates with his love for his siblings rears up, blinking slowly. Hannibal, cautious and aware of Will's skittishness, grips him at the hip, coaxing his little brother to arch against him, to press his flat belly to where Hannibal is half-hard, thickening eagerly at the pressure.

Will gasps, jerking back, his eyes black and wide as they fall to Hannibal's growing erection. He swallows harshly. "Is that…. Are you okay?" he asks, weak and soft with concern.

Oh, sweet innocent boy. Hannibal nods, wetting his lips and licking Will's taste from them. "Have you started getting erections, Will?" he asks.

Will blinks up at him. "I…. Sometimes when I wake up," he admits. "But Missus Grier says I shouldn't touch it, and it always goes away."

"Mine will go away, too," Hannibal assures him. "But it would be a lot faster if you could help me."

Will nods quickly. "I want to help," he says, as eager as he always is to do what Hannibal tells him. "How can I help, Hanni? I want to help."

Hannibal's smile is probably more like a wolf's that he means it to be, but Will doesn't flinch from him. He pets through Will's hair and brings him in for another kiss. "You should kneel down," he says, and Will drops to his knees before the words are barely out of his mouth. Hannibal shivers, a low growl swallowed back, kept behind his teeth like a snarling beast. "I'm going to take it out and you should touch it, okay?"

Will nods, breathing hard as Hannibal gazes down at him. "Yeah. Okay, I can do that," he says. So eager, so desperate to please. Hannibal could devour him whole.

He pushes his pants down and frees his erection, wrapping his fingers around the shaft as Will leans back to give him room. Will lets out a weak little noise, the first flicker of uneasiness in his eyes that Hannibal is quick to soothe with a gentle hand in his hair.

"Just like I'm doing," he coaxes, and Will nods, reaching up and wrapping his little hand around Hannibal's shaft. His fingers can't close around it, but that's alright. He gives it a tentative squeeze and Hannibal growls, nostrils flaring. "A little tighter," he says, and Will obeys instantly. "That's good, that's perfect, Will. Now, up and down, nice and tight just like that."

Will swallows, his brow creasing in an adorable little frown of concentration as Hannibal lets go of his cock, lets his free hand fall, content to watch as Will strokes him and lightly grazes the fingertips of his other hand over the vein and foreskin. Hannibal pulls it back for Will, revealing his cockhead, which has a single bead of precum at the tip.

Will looks up at him. "Is this good, Hanni?" he asks.

"Very good, Will," Hannibal replies. His cock has grown to a deep flush almost as dark as Will's cheeks. Will's eyes fall to the large head again. "You can touch it more, if you like."

Will nods, brushing his thumb feather-light over the slit, gathering the precum on his thumb. He wipes it away, and huffs when another one takes its place. "Is that supposed to happen?" he asks. Every innocent question from his lovely mouth makes Hannibal feel like a beast.

"That means it's working," Hannibal says, his breath catching when Will does it again. "You know what would really help, Will?" Will looks up, and Hannibal tightens his hand in Will's hair. "You should lick it."

Will's frown deepens. "Lick it?" he repeats.

Hannibal nods. "It's what people in love do. I can do it to you, too, if you want. Whenever you get one of these." Will's eyes grow wide. "When men get hard like this, they're meant to put it inside someone they love. I won't force you," he adds, when Will's cheeks go pale with anxiety, "but it helps the man feel better. It helps them."

Will swallows. "I want to help," he rasps, and then his shoulders roll, and his eyes settle on Hannibal's cockhead again. He leans in, cradling the head in his small hand, and tentatively licks the bead of precum from his slit. Hannibal gasps at the sensation, and Will gives a small huff of complaint. "It tastes weird."

"Bad weird?"

"Not bad," Will says, shaking his head. "Just weird."

He does it again, and then his tongue curls underneath Hannibal's cockhead, a little flicker of heat and moisture that sends a powerful surge of anticipation up Hannibal's spine. He grips Will's hair tighter, breathing out harshly.

"Open your mouth," Hannibal commands. Will shivers, blinking up at him anxiously. "It's like a kiss. It's okay."

Will's lips part, and he hitches in an unsure breath, as Hannibal cups his cheek with his free hand to hold him still, and pushes his cockhead between Will's lips. Tight, blistering heat surrounds him, and Will whimpers when Hannibal forces his cockhead deeper into Will's mouth. He's so small that his jaw cracks when Hannibal pushes in, a little trickle of spit falling from the corner of his mouth before he figures out how to seal his lips around it.

He gags immediately, jerking back and coughing, letting out a little whimper and wiping his hand over his mouth. "I'm sorry, Hanni, it's really big," he whines, voice heavy with shame and disappointment. "I don't know what to do."

"It's alright, Will," Hannibal purrs, petting Will's hair from his face. "Just open your mouth and relax. I'll do the rest. You're doing such a good job. It's really helping, I promise."

Will's eyes have begun to water, but he squares his shoulders and settles, ready to try again. He opens his mouth and Hannibal pushes inside him again, ignoring how Will's lips and throat clench around him, trying to force him out. Will gags as Hannibal sinks over his tongue, again when Hannibal's cockhead butts against the back of his throat. Again, stiff and whining, when Hannibal grips his head tightly and, with a grunt, shoves himself to the root inside Will's mouth, until Will's nose is crushed against his pelvis.

Will whimpers, fists batting weakly at Hannibal's thighs, but he doesn't pull away and he isn't trying to get Hannibal to release him. Tears stream down his red cheeks, his chin and lips wet with saliva. He's ravished and debauched and so _good_ , Hannibal loves him so much. He knows he's the first to touch Will like this, to kiss him and coax him to his knees and claim one of the secret places inside him. He'll be the first, the last, the only.

He pulls back and thrusts in again, and Will's entire body spasms with refusal, but he goes limp and lax, dizzy from lack of air since Hannibal is plugging him so thoroughly. Hannibal growls, tilting his head back, his stomach tense with anticipation and pending orgasm.

"It's going to go away soon, Will," he tells him, pulling back so Will can breathe. Will's lips are stretched tight around his cock and he looks up at Hannibal with shining, wet eyes. His nostrils flare and he gives another weak whimper. "You're going to taste something else, and it'll feel strange. Just swallow it all like when mama gives you medicine, okay?"

Hannibal pets over his cheek, and Will nods, closing his eyes.

Hannibal smiles. "Good boy." And then he shoves himself deep again, cupping Will's skull with both hands and relishing how Will tightens and groans around him. He ruts into his little brother's throat, bruising his tender muscles.

He pulls back just a little so that Will doesn't choke on him. It comes in a thick gush, heavy spurts painting the back of Will's tongue and flooding his mouth. Will gags again, coughing, spit and come leaking out around the broken seal of his lips. Hannibal sighs, moaning in pleasure, his cock twitching every time Will's tongue sweeps across the thick vein, around his foreskin, through the slit.

He pulls out when he's finished and crouches when Will coughs, giving wretched, pathetic little hitches as he tries to catch his breath. Hannibal pulls out his handkerchief from his pocket and wipes his mouth and cheeks clean, shushing him as Will swallows and tries to calm himself down.

When he's recovered, at least enough to open his eyes and gaze at Hannibal with that same hopeful, innocent look, Hannibal kisses him chastely and gives him a warm smile. "That helped so much, Will," he murmurs. Will's red, bruised lips twitch in a smile of his own. "You're such a good boy. A perfect brother. I love you so much."

"I love you too," Will replies, his voice hoarse and weak. Hannibal shivers, glowing with pride at knowing just how Will's voice got to sounding like that. At knowing he was the one who made it happen. "I…"

Hannibal's head tilts, and Will's already-red cheeks darken with shame. "I don't know if I liked that, Hanni. It hurt."

Hannibal hums. "There's another way," he assures Will, and Will's eyes brighten with hope. "Tonight, when it's bed time, I'll show you. And I'll help you, too, if you need it." He smiles. "Because I love you too, and I promise, it'll feel good."

"Okay," Will says, trusting, nodding eagerly. "Okay!" He smiles widely.

Hannibal answers him in kind, and gives him a kiss on the forehead. "Now, go wash your face and brush your teeth. It's almost time for dinner, and we can't let mama and papa or Mischa know what we've been up to, can we?"

"Right," Will says, as Hannibal helps him stand. "It's…not wrong. But it's secret."

"Exactly," Hannibal replies, and kisses him once more. "Run along, now, Will. I'll see you at dinner."

"Okay, Hanni. I love you."

"I love you too, darling. Very, very much."


	2. Chapter 2

Hannibal sits on his father's right side, their mother on his left. Mischa sits next to their mother, opposite Will, who flanks Hannibal's other side. Their dining room table is the same one they use when they throw parties and have balls, but the entire thing is decorated and laden with open spaces for food and another section kept bare for gifts, so they do not eat there the night before Mischa's birthday.

Instead, they eat in one of the lounging rooms, cooped up close together around a circular table, knees knocking knees and elbows carefully navigated. Will is a warm, shaking lamb by his side, his scent almost as sweet as the honey glaze atop their pork. Their father carves out thick slices that drip with clear juice, and the scent of salty-sweet meat floods Hannibal's mouth. He wonders if Will can smell it, in as many nuances and notes, as Hannibal can. Hannibal knows his sense of smell is overdeveloped, much more than their parents, but he's never put his siblings' abilities to the test.

Will is so close. And he stinks of sweat and of Hannibal, like the cells on Hannibal's palms found their likeness in Will's hair and have bonded with the strands. Hannibal was concerned Will might over-correct their closeness, so worried about seeming _too_ close that he compensates for it, and therefore makes it far too obvious. But no, he's just as shy and sweet as always. He laughs brightly when Mischa pokes him in the side to get him to move and give her room so she doesn't wrinkle her dress. He fixes their father with those beautiful, attentive eyes when he calls for Will's attention.

When their mother comments on Will's flushed cheeks and wet hair, he smiles and says; "I was chasing frogs, mama. I washed up before coming to eat with you."

Hannibal did not think he could love his little brother more, but the fierce and powerful surge of pride he feels, seeing his baby brother lie so well, oil on water, hits him like a blow, sits low in his stomach and makes his ears ring. Is it possible to love something so much that the only recourse is to destroy it? He imagines how Will's eyes shine when he cries, how tightly-hitched he could be with sobs, how he might tremble if Hannibal hit him, or pulled his hair a little too hard, or wrapped a hand around his mouth so he couldn't breathe -.

"Hanni?" Will's voice is soft and sweet and Hannibal feels like a monster. Not enough for remorse, but enough to know that this is certainly not the time nor the place to let thoughts of how he will consume and keep Will forever distract him. He turns, finds Will blinking up at him, pale despite all his time outdoors. He holds out a basket piled high with fresh rolls. "Do you want one?"

Hannibal smiles, and holds out his hand. "Thank you, Will," he says, when Will hands the basket over. Will flushes at the affection in Hannibal's tone, squirming in his seat. He nods, and fishes a roll for himself once Hannibal hands it back. 

Hannibal eats ravenously. If he cannot devour his brother until later, he must cut his teeth on meat and bread and soft-boiled potatoes, for he is starving, and aches for warmth, such sweet warmth. He cannot remember the last time he wanted this much.

Dinner passes with merciless slowness. Normally Hannibal dotes on Mischa and makes sure to pay attention to her childish ramblings - he is, after all, one of the foremost male figures in her life, one of the role models against which potential lovers and future friends will be measured, and he should be a good example - but his thoughts are on Will, on the so-near but so-distant future, where he can put Will to bed and then put himself on top of him and finally find out how warm and tight Will is between his legs.

The thoughts plague him to such utter distraction that he startles when he feels the back of his mother's cool hand upon his forehead, brushing his fringe from his face. "My darling, you're looking awfully flushed," she says, in the soft concerned way only a mother can truly master.

Hannibal smiles, touching her wrist gently. "I feel fine," he says.

She hums, and pulls her hand away. "I do hope you're not getting a fever," she says. "It would be such poor timing, and you might get Will sick, with how warm he's looking as well." She tuts. "I insist you both go to bed early. Perhaps a long night of rest will correct it before it can manifest."

Inside Hannibal, the monster gnashes its teeth and snarls eagerly. "Perhaps that would be best," he says. "I would hate to fall ill for Mischa's birthday."

He finishes his meal and stands with an apologetic tilt of his head, a nod of respect to his father. Will stands as well, dusting breadcrumbs from his thighs, and takes Hannibal's hand, his own dainty fingers threading through Hannibal's. "We'll see you in the morning," he says.

"Goodnight, mama, papa, Mischa," Will says with a bright smile, giving them a little wave, and he follows Hannibal towards their room. Hannibal closes the door behind them, and then locks it for good measure. Nighttime chill has invaded the space, and Will shivers as Hannibal leads him into the middle of the room. Their beds are placed near each other, with an aisle between them and with room on either side to climb in, headboards meeting the same wall.

Will turns to him, eyes bright with eagerness, and happily falls into his arms when Hannibal embraces him, for a moment simply needing to feel how small and sweet Will is. There will be a time when Will grows – both their parents are tall, and he sees no reason Will would not reach to almost his height – but there is a decadence to just how young and frail he feels at this age. Hannibal cannot remember ever being this small, this naïve. He wants to ruin it like pristine land, plough and rip into it to see it bear fruit. There is so much pale skin just begging to be marked.

"Are you going to be a good boy, Will? Can you help me again?"

Will nods, blinking up at him with his wide, beautiful eyes. He bites down on his lower lip, and it's turning so pink and tender, his cheeks flushing adorably. "It's not going to hurt, right?" he asks, high and soft.

"I promise," Hannibal purrs, petting Will's hair from his face. He kisses Will, the eager snarl of arousal he tried to keep down at dinner rearing up in him. It's so tempting, to throw Will onto his bed, to shove his legs apart and simply _take_ him, but again, Hannibal is his older brother. Will won't want to keep helping him if it's unpleasant for him. Hannibal can teach him how to relish pain, how to find solace and safety in Hannibal's arms, how to grow to like a hand around his neck and bruises on his thighs – but for now, Hannibal is the role model, and must lead by example.

"First," he murmurs, hands stroking down Will's shoulders, "we must both take off our clothes."

Will nods, and pulls back, shedding his clothes and folding them neatly as he's used to doing. Hannibal follows suit, shivering in the cold air. Will is trembling, wrapping his arms around his chest, his toes curling into the large accent rug that frames the bottom of both their beds.

"It's cold," he complains.

"Come here, then," Hannibal replies, and smiles when Will rubs up against him, an eager little puppy desperately rutting for friction. His smooth belly rubs against Hannibal's cock, thighs parting to frame one of Hannibal's, his fingers kneading under Hannibal's arms to warm himself up. Will's little cock is less than half the size of Hannibal's, a tease of fuzz just beginning to grow as he becomes a man. The rest of him is smooth and soft and practically begging for marks laid by claws and teeth. Hannibal will bruise him, will bite him, will tear him to shreds. Before Will's next birthday, he'll have Will so desperate for it that he begs.

He guides Will to his own bed, and lies Will down upon it once he pulls the sheets back. He leaves Will but for a moment to get one of the extra blankets from his bed, draping it over his shoulders like a cloak, and climbs into bed over Will, letting it settle, and pulls his own blankets over them both.

"See?" he asks, as Will braces his hands on his chest and stares up at him. "Nice and warm now, isn't it?" He leans down, kisses Will's sweet, pink mouth. "The more you rub against me, the warmer you'll get."

Will nods, biting his lower lip, arching up to get as much friction between them as possible. It's delicious, watching Will squirm and figure out how to angle himself and move his body like they're already joined – like Hannibal will train him to do, once Will is used to this kind of thing.

Hannibal's cock thickens quickly, just like it did before, and Will goes still, staring down at it, a small flash of anxiety darkening his eyes.

"Hanni," he breathes, wetting his lips. "I don't have to lick it again, do I?"

"Not if you don't want to," Hannibal replies, shaking his head. "It's not the only way to help. Remember what I said, how men have to put it inside someone they love when it gets like this?" Will nods, meeting his eyes. "I'm going to put it inside you. Just somewhere else."

Will's brow creases. His head tilts.

Hannibal smiles, and leans down, kissing him deeply, a long lick between his parted lips that makes Will gasp and arch up against him, hands sliding up and clinging sweetly to Hannibal's shoulders. The heat is stifling for him, and he can feel himself beginning to sweat, but on Will it creates a beautiful flush, from his cheeks, spreading down his neck, staining his chest.

"Hanni, I -." Will whines, softly, biting his lower lip. "Mine's hard, too."

Hannibal can feel it. Will's small cock drags against his own, a light sheen of sweat combining with Hannibal's precum to make it wet. "Would you like me to touch it?" he asks. "It feels good. I promised I'd help you when it got like this, didn't I?"

"Yeah," Will murmurs, nodding eagerly. "Yeah. I -. Please touch it," he says. "Missus Grier says I shouldn't touch it, but you can, right?"

"Exactly," Hannibal says with a smile, kissing him again. "You're so clever, Will."

Will smiles, and then his breath hitches, his expression going slack as Hannibal drags his hand down Will's soft, flat chest, his smooth stomach, and curls two of his fingers around Will's little cock. He strokes it with insistent pressure, and Will gasps and arches up into it, helplessly fucking his fingers as he moans and drags his blunt nails down Hannibal's arms.

"Oh, _oh_ ," Will gasps. Hannibal wraps his ring finger around the shaft as well, curls Will's cock in his fist and rubs his thumb through the slit, pulling back the foreskin and gently nudging the bundle of nerves beneath the head that he knows will drive Will wild.

Will writhes beneath him, panting heavily, a series of frantic little moans wrenched from his chest that Hannibal eagerly swallows. Will is sweating in earnest now, his hair turning the same black Hannibal had in his youth, that Mischa still has. Hannibal wraps his free hand in his wet curls and pulls him into another deep kiss.

Will whimpers, face screwed up in bliss. "I -. I feel like I'm gonna burst," he says weakly, pawing at his own stomach. "It's so sensitive. It feels so good."

"Would you like to put it inside me?" Hannibal murmurs.

Will gasps, eyes wide and black. He nods frantically. "Please?"

Hannibal smiles, and kisses him, before he pulls back, kissing his way down Will's red neck and heaving chest. He reaches Will's cock and releases his fingers, flattening his hands on Will's skinny, jutting hips so that he doesn't get it into his head to thrust.

Hannibal licks up Will's cock, all the way from his little balls to the very tip. Will squirms beneath him, panting. "You have to be quiet, Will," Hannibal reminds him. "It's a secret, remember?"

Will whimpers, and covers his mouth with his hand. He bites on his knuckles, and Hannibal smiles at him, giving a low hum of approval. Then, he licks up Will's cock again, tongue curling thick around the thin vein, up through his slit. Will's salty precum explodes in a burst of flavor in his mouth and he growls, unable to help himself parting his lips fully and taking Will to the root. He's small enough that it gives him no trouble.

And it doesn't last long. Will shrieks against his hand, kicking out helplessly as his entire body writhes and arches. A pathetic, small spurt of come spills onto Hannibal's tongue and he licks it up, purring at the taste, at how weak and wanton Will's muffled noises are.

He pulls off with another long lick, and Will gazes up at him with wet eyes. "That felt good, didn't it?" he asks. Will nods, slowly drawing his shaking hands away. "That's what it feels like when you help me, too, Will. Do you still want to help me?"

"Yes," Will breathes. "Yes. I want to help you feel like that. I want to do it again."

"You can still lick mine, if you want. Or we can try the other way."

Will presses his lips together, looking down at Hannibal's flushed, leaking cock with another small, fidgety wave of anxiety. "I -. It really hurt me, Hanni. I'm sorry." He blinks back up at Hannibal, tears forming in his eyes, at the thought of disappointing his big brother. "You promise the other way won't hurt?"

"Not if you do exactly as I tell you," Hannibal assures him. Will smiles.

"Then can we try the other way? I promise, if it's better than licking, you can do it as much as you want."

Hannibal pauses, and plants his hands on the bed so he doesn't inadvertently tighten his hands around Will to the point of bruising him. _Innocent_ boy, he should know better than to say things like that. Hannibal calms himself as quickly as he's able, and gives Will a warm smile, kissing the air from his shivering lungs.

"Get on your belly," he says. Will's brow creases in confusion, but he obeys, because he's a good boy and he always does exactly what Hannibal tells him. Hannibal takes one of the pillows from the head of his bed and lifts Will's hips up, folding it beneath. "You might get hard again, but that's okay. You can put it back inside me after or you can use the pillow."

Will nods, breathes in, and melts to the bed like he's been doing this all his life. Hannibal's upper lip twitches, greedy eyes raking down him, from his sweat-black, wild hair, his flushed neck, his skinny shoulders just beginning to develop muscle, his smooth back with those so-tempting dips on either side of his spine. His bared hole, pink and tight and dry, untouched. Totally untouched. Hannibal is salivating.

He kneels up and pulls one of the blankets around to frame Will's sides so he doesn't get cold. Later, when Hannibal is on top of him and crushing him to the bed, he won't have need of it. Will gives a grateful wiggle and sighs when Hannibal pushes his thighs apart, so Hannibal can see his perineum, his balls, the base of his cock before it gets buried in the creases of the pillow.

He reaches into his bedside table and pulls out his bottle of lotion. How many nights has he spent, palming himself under the covers while he listened to Will shivering and panting in his sleep, from the cold or from a wet dream he was too young to wake and take advantage of? Never again, if he has his way – he'll make this so good for Will that Will aches for it. Make it so that Will feels empty and hollow without Hannibal inside him.

"I know you'll be good and not touch yourself since Missus Grier said so," Hannibal murmurs, squirting a thick dollop of lotion onto his fingers. "So just let me know if you need me to touch it for you, okay?"

He waits for Will to nod, and smiles, smearing his fingers over Will's hole. Will tenses immediately, trying to pull his legs together, and looks at Hannibal over his shoulder.

"Is that -? Is that where you're going to put it?" he asks, high-pitched and frozen stiff with anxiety.

"Yes," Hannibal replies, and puts a hand in his hair to correct him and shove his cheek to the mattress. "Mischa and mama have another hole, here," he adds, tapping lightly at Will's perineum. "Instead of cocks like we do. We don't have as many options, but that's alright. It still feels good."

"How do you know?" Will whines, muffled.

Hannibal's smile is wide, fanged. "Don't you trust me, Will?" he purrs, rubbing his fingertips over Will's rim. It's tense, all of Will is very tense even with his recent orgasm. He pushes with the pad of his forefinger and Will stiffens further. "If you don't trust me, then maybe this is a mistake. Maybe you don't love me as much as I thought you did."

The sound Will lets out – ragged and desperate and so sad – could nourish Hannibal for _months_. He twists in Hannibal's grip, unable to fight the hand pressing him down, and reaches back to paw frantically at Hannibal's knee.

"No! I love you, I swear, I'm sorry," he says, all in a rush. "I'm sorry, Hanni. I trust you. I'm just…scared."

He sounds so ashamed. His fear, his shame, tastes like honey on Hannibal's tongue.

He smiles, kneeling up so he can loom over Will, releasing his hair and petting down his cheek until he can cup Will's chin and lift him to a kiss. "Just relax," he whispers, and makes sure he can see Will's face when he forces his first finger inside. It goes easily, Hannibal is strong and the lotion slicks Will up perfectly, and Will's face contorts in a grimace, he grunts, an adorable pout on his face as he gets used to the sensation. "There we go. That wasn't so bad, was it?"

Will looks up at him, lashes wet. "No," he admits, cheeks turning such a dark red. "It's not bad. Just weird."

"Just wait," Hannibal says, kissing his cheek. "I have to find this spot inside you. Everyone has one, in different places. It feels _so_ good when touched. Just be patient."

Will clenches around him when Hannibal moves his finger, curling it down and stroking slowly. He's so _tight_ and hot on the inside, absolutely begging to be pierced and split open further. Hannibal can't wait until he can feel Will around him properly.

"I know this part isn't as nice as the rest," Hannibal assures him. "I'll buy you something to wear so you can be stretched out all the time, and that way we won't have to do this as much. I'll just be able to be inside you whenever you want to help."

He finds it, then. Will is gazing up at him, back bowed sharply and eyes wide and dark, such blatant trust and adoration on his face. Hannibal closes his eyes, kisses Will's slack mouth, and runs his fingertip right over the little nub of Will's prostate.

The effect is immediate. Will tenses and whines against his mouth, panting heavily as Hannibal pets over his prostate, over and over again, his thumb slicking down Will's perineum so he can pinch it as Will writhes, and he manages to wrench a moan from his little brother's open mouth.

"Hanni," Will gasps, whining weakly. "Please, _oh_ , that feels really good. Will you touch me again?"

"Of course, darling," Hannibal purrs, smile wide. He reaches beneath Will, fighting his way between sweaty skin and damp fabric of the pillow until he finds Will's nipple. He pinches it, twisting a little, and Will arches against his chest with another sweet cry, punching the mattress. It's like he can't decide where he wants friction most; he's rutting onto Hannibal's fingers and down against his hand and up along his chest, such a wild little boy, a slave to all the new sensations Hannibal is bringing him.

Hannibal puts his mouth to Will's rabbit-fast pulse and licks over the back of his neck, and Will screams into his own fist and comes a second time, bearing down around Hannibal's finger, before Hannibal even touches his cock.

Hannibal uses the advantage of his orgasm-lax body to push another finger in, stroking his prostate mercilessly as Will sobs into the mattress, his cheeks wet with tears. He licks them clean, mouths over the back of Will's neck to see how his arms break out in goose bumps.

He strokes Will inside and out, snarling at the taste of arousal-sweet sweat clinging to his skin. By God, Will tastes phenomenal. Good enough to devour whole.

"It's my turn, Will," he says.

Will nods weakly, shaking so hard he's like a little boat on a wind-tossed ocean, soaked to the bone and red as sin. "Please put it in, Hanni," he begs, and if Will's cries could nourish Hannibal for months, those words could keep him well-fed for _years_. "I'll be good, I swear."

"I know, darling," Hannibal purrs, nuzzling his sodden hair. "It may be a bit uncomfortable again, but remember how good it feels, right? More will just feel better."

"Yeah," Will says with another nod.

Hannibal's smile is borderline feral, his mouth so full of saliva he feels it pool around his teeth. He pulls his fingers out and slicks his cock up with another heavy dollop of lotion, grips Will's hip to hold him steady and breathes him in.

"Just relax," he whispers.

Will shrieks with pain on the first press in, tightening up around him, but Hannibal is in no mood to stop now. Will kicks out and Hannibal frames his knees with his own and pulls them together. He pushes at Hannibal's hand and Hannibal merely tightens his grip.

"You're a good boy, aren't you, Will?" Hannibal snarls.

"I'm trying, Hanni, I'm sorry."

"Sorry isn't good enough," Hannibal hisses. "You're either good or you aren't. You either love me, or you don't."

Will whimpers, openly sobbing as he claws at his own hair, trying to breathe. He nods, hiccupping around his cries, and Hannibal prowls over him and flattens himself entirely over Will, wraps a hand in his hair to keep him down, other hand still tight and bruising on Will's hip. He lines himself up, and pushes inside.

Will's scream is muffled by Hannibal's hand as he covers his mouth, closes his eyes, forces himself through Will's tense and slick muscles. Each inch that parts for him sends an echoing pulse of victorious fervor through him, he's snarling inside his own head, baring his teeth against the crown of Will's skull. He doesn't back down, doesn't slow, until his hips meet Will's and he's all the way inside.

He sighs, smiling, and releases Will's mouth. "There we go," he purrs, kissing away Will's tears, petting down one of his arms to where he's clawing at the mattress. He laces their fingers together. "I'm all the way in now, Will. Can you feel it?"

Will whimpers, clenching up around him. "So big," he gasps.

"But it feels _so_ good, Will," Hannibal whispers. His tone brooks no argument, coaxing Will to agree with him. "You're doing such a good job, I'm so proud of you. You were made for me to do this with you, Will. We're perfect for each other."

Will's breath hitches, and he turns to gaze at Hannibal with wide, teary eyes. Tries to smile. Hannibal kisses him, licking deep into his mouth, and rolls his hips, drawing another pitiful groan from deep in Will's chest.

"I can feel it," he whispers, and his free hand goes between his belly and the pillow, pressing down hard enough Hannibal can feel the pressure against his cockhead. "I -. It feels -."

"You're such a good little helper, Will," Hannibal says with a smile. "I'm going to move now. You just relax and let me do all the work."

Will heaves with a grateful little moan. "Okay," he says, sweet and trusting. His fingers tighten between Hannibal's.

Hannibal closes his eyes, rests his forehead to Will's wet hair, and rolls his hips, hissing at the tight cling of Will's slick rim to his cock, fighting his withdrawal, fighting his re-entry. Will was made for this, he's certain; he fits Hannibal like a glove, so warm and wet and shaking around him like a vibrating hand. He's perfect, and Hannibal tells him so, graceless half-praises and uttered snarls as he uses Will's body with slow, deliberate care.

After a while, Will starts squirming beneath him again, panting. There's nowhere for him to hide, Hannibal's cock is so big inside him that his prostate is being relentlessly battered. He moans weakly, and Hannibal releases his hip and reaches beneath him, stroking his little cock in a counterthrust to his own movements. It isn't long before Will has his knees pulled up, rutting back against him, moaning sweet and high as Hannibal drags him up and up and up.

"Hanni, Hanni, I'm gonna -." He doesn't finish the sentence before he's coming, biting down on a fold of the sheets and screaming through his release, coating Hannibal's fingers with his pathetic dribble of come. Hannibal snarls, and shoves his fingers into Will's mouth, silencing him as he lets himself grow rougher, chasing the pleasure coiling low in his stomach and seeking a place to spill into.

He presses in deep, grunting as he comes, his teeth to Will's red ear and his eyes clenched tightly shut. It feels never-ending, riding the sweet, delicious clenches of Will's orgasmic body, flooding him deeper than anyone has ever gone before, or ever will again. He fucks Will through it, until come stains his shaft and leaks out around it, dripping down Will's perineum, slicking his shaking thighs.

He pushes in as deep as he can and lets out a sated moan, licking the sweat and tears from Will's face and kissing him ravenously as Will whines and whimpers under him. Will turns, shoulder to the bed, cups Hannibal's face with his free hand in a gesture so profoundly intimate Hannibal's heart goes still.

He pulls back, though he keeps his cock inside Will. Will is too warm, too inviting, to leave just yet.

Will's eyes are hazy, glazed with pleasure, and he manages a weak smile. "Did I help, Hanni? Was that good?"

"That was _so_ good, Will," Hannibal purrs in reply, smiling wide. "Did you feel good too?"

"Yeah," Will murmurs, nodding. His lashes lower, exhaustion sweeping through him and making him go lax. "I liked that more than licking it. You can do that again if you want."

Oh, sweet boy. As if Hannibal had any other intention. "Good," he purrs. "And you can put yours in me, too, sometimes, if you'd like." He pets down Will's chest, as Will shivers and lets out a weak little protest, Hannibal's soft cock slipping from him amongst a heavy gush of his come. Will's brow creases, he bites his lower lip and reaches down, tentatively testing the slick.

"Hanni?" he asks sweetly. Hannibal hums, gathering Will close and pressing his nose to his hair as they settle under the covers, the stained pillow removed and the blankets arranged in a thick cocoon around themselves. "You said people in love do this, and it's okay because we're in love even though we're not married, but…. Why do they do it?"

"There are many reasons," Hannibal tells him. "It feels good, for one." Will nods slowly. "If you were like mama, or Mischa, what we just did would make a baby, too. That's another reason."

Will blinks up at him, wide and innocent. "But we can't make babies, right?" he asks.

"No, Will."

Will nods again, pressing his lips together. "So one day Mischa will do it, and she'll make a baby?" Hannibal hums, and nods, curious why Will might ask.

"One day," he says. "When she falls in love. If she falls in love with a man."

Will hums. "Don't you think Mischa loves us?"

Hannibal frowns, pulling back to see Will's face. "I'm sure she does," he says slowly.

Will smiles widely. "And we love her too, right?" Hannibal nods again. "I don't think there's ever going to be someone good enough for her. But I hope when she does grow up and finds someone, it's someone like you." He pushes himself closer, eyes closing. "You're the best."

Hannibal smiles, affection warming him with the same relentlessness that desire had, eating at him until he's hollow and rotten to the core. He wraps his arms around Will, holding him close, and heaves a sated sigh. "I'm glad you think so, Will. You're a good brother, too."

Will wriggles happily, his smile wide against Hannibal's chest. "I love you, Hanni."

"I love you too, Will. Now go to sleep. In the morning, if you're not too sore, you can help me again. I think I will need a lot of help from now on."

"Sure!" Will chirps eagerly, and stifles a yawn against his palm, his eyes closing. "Whatever you want."


End file.
